Have you heard the news that you're dead?
by The Neliel Tu
Summary: Stark x Neliel. Before you hate on it, give it a chance! They serve to teach each other certain lessons about life. Stark tries to convince Neliel that she's dead. One shot.


_Okay, so this is my crack pairing, Stark x Neliel. _

_I was listening to MCR and their song "Dead" inspired this. Don't ask why. I couldn't tell you._

_I'm very much in love with this story, I do not know why, but I've read it SO many times, and I hope I've edited it to near perfection! _

_Well, enjoy!! _

_I own nothing. Not even a bottle of bleach. _

**Have you heard the news that you're dead? **

It all started with the silent following of Stark.

"Ah, Neliel Tu Oderschvank. What a pleasant surprise." Sarcasm dripped off of each word.

"Would you really prefer someone else to me?"

"Actually, yes."

"Oh? Anyone else would have you dead for those remarks."

"Would they." It was not a question.

"Yes." She answered anyway.

"I'm assuming you know this from…personal experience? Is that why you're dead, Neliel?"

She left faster than anyone had ever left him before.

&

"Patience, my dear espada, is key." Always on with that term of endearment, Sosuke Aizen was.

Stark had not been around for so long, but he had heard enough. He tuned Aizen's words out most of the time, and slept through some of the meetings, much to Neliel's hidden annoyance. Sometimes he made it through meetings, and managed to find his bed afterward. Aizen's words had a tendency of making him wish for his bed something awful.

"Why do you bother showing up at meetings if you cannot keep your eyes open through their duration?" Neliel demanded after one meeting where Stark had not been able to keep his eyes open.

"Oh, how cute. You think that meetings are an option." He returned.

"To espada, they are not." She was calm, something that secretly, he respected.

"Neliel, it should not matter. Why should it? You're dead, either way."

"So are you." His field of vision then suddenly filled with the sight of her long green hair swishing down her back as she stormed away. It had been the first time she'd retorted.

&

"Your eyes are innocent, Neliel."

"What of it?"

"I suspect that you are not."

"Stark, you should not presume such things."

"We're already dead, Neliel. What could it hurt?"

"A lot of things, Stark." Neliel returned calmly.

"Name one."

"My status.

"Oh." Somehow, he knew that she refused to believe that she was dead. She could breathe, couldn't she? That made her alive.

But Stark knew. Hollows cannot die, only dissipate, and thus be 'redeemed.' He didn't believe in redemption, either. They had chosen their paths, and Aizen was Satan, and Hueco Mundo was their hell. Hell was everything Stark endured, the sleep that was forced from him, the tempting Neliel just under his nose but with no chance, and Aizen's pointless, sleep-inspiring meetings.

Neliel was not the sort of woman who would give in to those baser desires, that much was obvious.

"If you have no further business with me, I will take my leave." Neliel stated. Before she could turn, Stark's lips were upon hers. She gave no response; her lips were cold beneath his. He pulled away, indifferent.

"Have you heard the news that you're dead, Neliel?"

He expected the firm slap delivered to his cheek. What he did not expect was for her to kiss him deeply, her lips _warm_ this time.

"You took me by surprise." Then, she was gone.

&

She sat in the sand, long, green hair playing in the wind of her spiritual pressure, staring into the absent beauty of an eternal night. Her back was perfectly straight, perpendicular to her legs, which were parallel to the sand.

Her eyes were weary, filled with awe and disdain. How could the stars shine if there was no day? How many had asked that question? She had only ever known endless night, and not those pointless, nonexistent questions. Borne of the sand, and the loneliness the night held, she knew only that.

She contemplated death.

There was a warm breeze—maybe it was cold but she could not tell—and then there was hot breath trailing down her neck, making her shiver. She tensed, but did not move…at first.

Her eyes shot to the side to catch messy locks of dark hair in her peripheral vision. Those locks framed a face not yet shaven, with bitter, sarcastic eyes built into the face.

"Stark…what do you want?" her voice was calm, a hint of gentleness in it. Her docile face was the essence of beauty. The perfect shading of her flesh, the accent her pink birthmark made, and her full lips. He admitted it only to himself that he loved her lips, the lips made to kiss, with beautiful, harmonic wise words passing through them, and nothing dull or stupid, or ugly. Even the timbre of her voice made her perfect.

He was not falling in love. He could not be. He would not mind it. Perhaps it (love, that is to say) was sneaking up on him. He hadn't been warned.

All he knew was that the urge to kiss her had come upon him suddenly. He wanted to press his lips against hers and feel her teeth digging into her flesh.

"Don't even think of it." He must have made a move to kiss her.

"Can I help it that you look stunning in the moonlight?" His apparent sarcasm ruined the words for her.

"You do not believe that."

"But I do." Stark's sudden sincerity startled Neliel, and she found his lips were upon hers and she did not mind so much.

She rose. "I have to go."

"You're lying."

"I am. I want to go." She left him kneeling in the sand, chasing the vague hope that she would be following him the next day.

&

He did not see her for weeks. Her appearance was harsher than he remembered, and her words colder and detached.

"Neliel."

"Stark." She smirked arrogantly at him, her chin lifted. _Who had she met?_

"You are different." Spoken with a bit of astonishment.

"And yet you remain the same, don't you?"

"It's only been weeks, Neliel. Yet, I don't think you've been contemplating the moon lately."

Death, she wanted to correct him. She did not. He saw it in her eyes.

"No, I was mistaken. You haven't changed. You are still dead." He turned and left her then.

She wanted to follow him.

&

A warm breeze wafted through the stark, white room. She shifted on her bed, an arm over her face. She felt dizzy, weak, did not wish to leave the bed.

She would have to face him.

Falling in love did not suit Neliel Tu Oderschvank. Perhaps in another world, another life, she would give in. She could not, however. She refused. She wanted to so desperately.

She had obligations, duties, and responsibilities. There was no room for love in her life. There was no use if she was going to throw it away later on anyway.

She rose, though there was no point in it. She dressed, brushing her long hair out until it cascaded down her back in soft, green waves.

She opened her door to find Stark taking up wall space beside it (Which wasn't really a surprise). She fought the urge to return to her room, instead facing him.

"I did not realize you enjoyed this part of Las Noches." She greeted.

"Only because of you."

"You sound sincere. You are not falling in love with me, are you, Stark?"

"I would not lie to you. After all, we are both dead, and it would be unfair. I am."

"The feeling will pass with time." Her words were not convincing, especially to herself, for they were said more for her benefit.

"You don't believe it yourself." Without her realization, he had moved. His lips were next to her ear, and she could feel his stubble on her cheek. "What could it hurt, Neliel? We're both dead." He was whispering.

This prompted a kiss. When she pulled away slowly, her cheek brushing across his, he thought she was leaving him. She kissed him passionately instead.

"Neliel…" he murmured when she pulled away.

"Change your mind, Stark." She said as she walked away, her back toward him, not looking back.

He was left with his hand to his mouth, wishing her lips were still upon his.

&

He followed her.

She went out to the colonies, to seek vasto lorde with the octavo, Nnoitora. Some sort of jealousy, he figured, drove him to watch the two.

She would never know.

He saw Nnoitora's failed advances on Neliel, his frustration, and his self-loathing for 'not being good enough.' Stark was glad she resisted despite himself. Petty jealousy, he thought, was foolish and wasted too much energy.

"Nnoitora, when will you cease this senseless killing?" She demanded. He rolled his single eye at her defiantly.

"They obviously ain't vasto lorde if I killed them so easily."

"They were like us, Nnoitora. We are simply—"

"Shut the fuck up! I don't give a shit!"

Stark turned and left. He could not take anymore of that scene. How could that monster treat her like that? Neliel was meant to be adored, respected; not told to shut up.

Her words wore of wisdom, and Nnoitora should have listened to her. He was foolish. He would hurt her.

She found Stark staring toward the colonies on her way back to Las Noches. He saw the frustrated, weary tears in her eyes. He knew despite those, she was happy to see him. She did not want to think about why.

"Stark." She found she had fallen wearily into his arms, eyelids bearing down upon wet orbs.

"What happened? Did you realize that you are dead, Neliel?" He held her still; she could not leave.

"All too well." She murmured weakly. "But you…" she paused. "You make me feel alive." She lied.

"I see." He knew that she had lied. He did not care. He bruised her lips with a kiss.

And they made love.

Then, Neliel lost interest in Stark, and somehow, things were easier.

_If life is just a joke, then why am I dead?_


End file.
